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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795269">Lucky Number Seven</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabsel98/pseuds/Sabsel98'>Sabsel98</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Catch me-verse [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bluebeard is a sick fuck, Catatonia, Choking, Crying, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Discussion of bowel movement, Echolalia, F/M, Forced Feminization, Lots of Crying, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Shit Gets Dark, So bring your flashlights folks, Vomiting, We're diving into some of the stuff that Damian went through, my poor baby, selective mutism, some gore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:54:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,037</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28795269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabsel98/pseuds/Sabsel98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He is the seventh. The seventh victim. The seventh bride. Seven, it seems, is his lucky number.</p><p>Damian doesn't feel lucky.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Stephanie Brown/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Catch me-verse [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091738</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lucky Number Seven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, third one-shot.<br/>The last two were pretty short, so I hope you guys have fun with 16 pages of Damian Angst!<br/>As always, thanks for reading! ^^</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>Damian registered the water first, warm droplets hitting his skin and running down his back. There were hands on him, too. Large, calloused hands that were gently washing away the grime that clung to him.</p><p>But that wasn't right.</p><p>The man claiming to be his husband wasn't gentle. His hands took and took until there was nothing left to take.</p><p>He started to shiver.</p><p>Damian had been in the bathroom only hours ago, why was he back? He had escaped hadn't he?</p><p>Or maybe he had only dreamt it. Like that time he had thought Father had come to save him. His eyes had played tricks on him in the dark. It was always dark in the cellar, the only light came in when the door opened and Bluebeard took him to the Flower Room. Damian hated the Flower Room, it's where he was hurt. He almost preferred the darkness, with it's imagined saviors and menacing shadows.</p><p>That had to be it. His mind was playing tricks again.</p><p>Damian found himself laid face down on a bed, his ass exposed and he idly wondered if he was in the Flower Room. But the room didn't smell right, it smelled like antiseptic, not like the cloying sweetness of a dozen flowers. It was also white and sterile, no yellowed walls and wooden ceiling, and no mirriad of colorful blossoms. He could also move freely, he wasn't tied down with ropes that bit at his skin and soaked up his blood.</p><p>Damian was just starting to wonder what was going on, when there was finally a familiar sensation.</p><p>His buttcheeks were being spread apart.</p><p>There was a sharp inhale from the person that was doing it. <em>Bluebeard? But Bluebeard doesn't wear latex gloves.</em></p><p>Damian flinched when a gloved finger came into contact with one of the tears in his anus, but to his surprise the pain was only a dulled throb instead of the usual white-hot flare.</p><p>
  <em>A local anesthetic?</em>
  <span>, the part of his mind that was not a jumbled mess supplied.</span>
</p><p>A rhythmic, odd sensation started to occur, one that Damian was familiar with, although not in that location.</p><p>
  <em>Stitches... is he... is he sewing me shut?</em>
</p><p>The boy's heart started to pound and he fisted his hands in the bed-sheets, swallowing the whimper that wanted to crawl up his throat.</p><p>
  <em>Be quiet! Don't make a sound, or you'll get the Broom again.</em>
</p><p>Damian squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the vast emptiness that slowly floods his mind.</p><p>He resurfaced a few hours later, still confused and sluggish.</p><p>He stared at the ceiling, uncomprehending.</p><p>
  <em>This is not the cellar... and it's not the Flower Room...</em>
</p><p>It's his room in the manor, he realized.</p><p>
  <em>How?...</em>
</p><p>And then it all came flooding back and Damian had to slap his hand over his mouth to keep the sob, that wanted to tear from his throat, in.</p><p>
  <em>No! Be quiet! Good wives are silent! Good wives are silent! Good wives are <b>silent!</b></em>
</p><p>“Damian?”</p><p>Fathers blurry face swam into focus above him and part of him wanted nothing more than to be held by him and forget the last week ever happened, there's another part of him that was absolutely revolted by the thought of touching another person, because.</p><p>Because Damian was disgusting.</p><p>He's- He's <em>ruined,</em> and <em>dirty,</em> and <em>used.</em></p><p>He didn't want to spread his grime, the filth that still clung to him like a second skin, to somebody else, especially not Father.</p><p>“Can you hear us, Little Bird?”, it's Richard's voice, but it was the last thing he registered before he got sucked away into a whirlwind of memories.</p><p> </p><p>“Such a pretty little bird.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn't that feel good, Little Bird?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Stop crying, Little Bird!”</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em>Don't scream, Little Bird, or I'll have to punish you.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“<em><b>Look, Little Bird, look how pretty you are.”</b></em></p><p> </p><p>“<em><b>There's a good little bird... so good... so pretty... such a good little bride.”</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian shivers as cum splatters his insides. There's a fist in his hair, smashing him face first against the bathroom tiles. Warm water pelts his back, but he barely feels it, too occupied by the mind numbing pain that encompasses him.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Bluebeard pulls away from him and Damian almost falls, but is held up by the nape of his neck. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>The shower is turned off and he is dragged out, a rough towel scrubs over his skin, drying the drops of water and whisking away the blood and semen that leak out of him.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>It's a disgusting feeling, Damian is disgusting.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Lift your leg, My Dove.”, Bluebeard says.</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He is holding something white and small. Damian complies without arguing.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Arguing only brings pain, fighting only gets him the Broom.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His foot slips through a hole in the silky fabric and he realizes it's a pair of panties that he's being forced into.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>So, it is that day, huh?</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian lifts his other foot without needing to be prompted. He almost feels relieved that this will all be over soon.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He'll see Timothy again, they can watch over Father and the others together. Maybe he'll even forgive him for cheating, for giving his first time to this cruel, brutal man.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian lifts his arms so Bluebeard can put the lacy bra on him and patiently sits on the closed toilet as he rolls the sheer stockings up his calves.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He wonders if the other brides struggled. If they had been stronger. If these civilian boys had been harder to break than Robin, the Boy Wonder.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Then comes the dress and Damian stares. It's pretty. It's a sleeveless ballgown, the bodice intricately embroidered and glittering with pearls.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>It's a shame that this man is a serial killer, he could've made a lot of brides happy as a tailor.</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>The boy steps into the dress and turns around, so Bluebeard can lace it in the back. It feels odd. Damian has worn a skirt before, for an undercover mission, but never a dress, and certainly not something as fancy as this.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>A comb is run through his, still damp, hair and Bluebeard humms contemplatively as he runs his fingers through the longer strands on top of his head. He parts them into sections and starts french-braiding them, he then tucks the ends underneath the braid and secures them with a hairpin. The experience is oddly relaxing and Damian has to keep himself from melting into the touch. Bluebeard puts the veil into his hair, careful not to disturb the braid. It's long and sheer, almost touching the ground.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>The man turns him around and just admires him for a moment.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Perfect.”, he breathes out, then takes up a make-up kit and sits down on the toilet.</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He takes Damian's chin in his hand and dabs sticky gloss on his lips. The boy smacks them at the strange feeling, it makes a popping sound.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His supposed husband chuckles, the sound is rough like stones grinding together.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Close your eyes, Pretty Dove.”</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian does and startles only slightly when eye-shadow is dusted over his eyelids. The eyeliner is a cool liquid against the sensitive skin and Bluebeard drags it in a sweeping motion almost all the way out to his temples.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Open your eyes and look up at the ceiling.”</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Again Damian obeys and the eyeliner is applied just along the waterline of his lower eyelids.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>You have such beautiful eyes, my Little Bird, you don't even need mascara with those eyelashes of yours.” </b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian doesn't say anything, of course he doesn't.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Good wives are silent, after all.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Look at how beautiful you are.”, he pushes him towards the mirror and Damian stares, dumbfounded.</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He barely recognizes himself. While he used to look exactly like a small version of his father, recent years have brought out Talia's features as well, he wouldn't call himself her spitting image, however. Right now, though, right now he looks eerily like a younger version of his mother. It's honestly disconcerting how much he resembles her and he wonders if she ever had dreams of being dressed up like this, when she was his age, hoping for a fairy-tale wedding that she never got. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He wonders what she would think of him, could she see him now.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He runs a finger over the bodice of the dress, gently tugging at one of the pearls. It really is pretty.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian's face twitches. He wants to wash the make-up off. He wants to tear off the dress. He wants to recognize himself.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Come, Little Bird.”</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>The boy let's out a shaky breath and follows the tall man out of the bathroom.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He is being led to the Flower Room. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian's heartbeat speeds up and cold sweat gathers at the small of his back. He knows what's coming and he starts to tremble.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Maybe... Maybe it'll be like the fairy tale? Maybe his brothers will come, just in the nick of time and save him?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Lay down on the table, on your back, please.”</b></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His heart is pounding in his ears as he lifts himself up on the table. He winces as he sits down, he hurts. The boy swings his legs up and lays flat on his back, hands resting over his stomach.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>This.. this is okay... (No, it's not!)... I wanted it to stop... (Not like this! I don't want to die!)... I'll see Timothy again... (I want to see Father! And Richard, and Jason, and Stephanie, and Roy and little Lian, too!)... It-it won't hurt anymore... (It'll hurt so much worse. Strangulation is painful!)... I'll be free... (Somebody save me!)... I want to die... (Somebody, please!)</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Bluebeard is straddling him, now, his hands are caressing Damian's throat, almost lovingly. The man's stringy blonde hair hangs into his face and he is smiling softly. Then he puts his hands around Damian's neck and starts to squeeze.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian freezes. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His heart is rabbiting in his chest, his lungs burn and spasm, trying to take in air, his throat hurts.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Panic starts to set in and Damian wants to move, move, </b>
  </em>
  <span>
    <b>move!, </b>
  </span>
  <b>
    <em>but he can't, he's frozen in terror.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>It takes his vision starting to swim and his windpipe giving an ominous creak, to snap him out of it. He flails his arms out, trying to push the murderer off, but Bluebeard is an immovable object. He tries clawing at the hands that hold him, but the man is wearing rubber gloves, the kind used for gardening. He throws his arms out as far as they can go, reaching for something, anything. His hand closes around a handle, just as black spots start to blot out his vision. He swings whatever it is, straight at Bluebeard's face. It turns out to be a hammer, that nails him right in the temple, spiked side first.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>The man lets out a grunt and tilts sideways, and suddenly they're both falling off the table. Damian lands on top of him and doesn't hesitate. He clutches the hammer in both hands and brings it down again, and again, and again. Until Bluebeard stops fighting, stops moving, stops breathing. And then Damian keeps going. He doesn't know why, but he can't seem to stop. The crunch of bone and the wet squelch of flesh fill the room. Blood splatters onto Damian's face and dress, ruining the pretty picture he had made. Little chips of bone stick to his fingers and viscera slides down his face, clumps in his hair. Damian stops, freezes mid-swing, then he leans to the side and empties his stomach, not that there is anything but water in there.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He stumbles backwards, breath coming in quick, painful gasps. He holds out the hammer before him, brandishing it at the corpse, as if it will come back to life to torment him, once again. </b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>His back hits the wall and he gags again. The stench of blood and death is overwhelming.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian stares at the- the thing on the ground, because that can't possibly have been a human being. Only the lower jaw of the person, the monster, that was once Bluebeard, remains, his teeth stick out of his gums, glistening like diamonds, the tongue is flapped backwards, lolling towards the back of a head that doesn't exist anymore. The rest of his head is just pulp, a pink and red mush with tiny, jagged fragments of bones and strands of dirty blonde hair, mixed in.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Damian's eyes water. That- that wasn't him, right? He couldn't have done that. It was too horrible, too brutal and disgusting. Damian didn't- Damian didn't </b>
  </em>
  <span>
    <b>do</b>
  </span>
  <b>
    <em> that.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Numbness was starting to spread through his body and a buzzing sound started to fill his ears.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He had to get out, he... Home, he needed to go home, yes, that's what he would do.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>He would- he-</b>
  </em>
</p><p>Damian opened his eyes, or maybe he just snapped back to awareness, he wasn't entirely sure. He was in the darkness and his heart sped up in fear.</p><p>
  <em>I can't be back in the cellar, Bluebeard's dead. I killed him! I killed him!</em>
</p><p>The teenager sat up slowly, wincing at the dull flare of pain from his butt, there was also an uncomfortable prick in his arm, and he<em> really</em> needed to pee.</p><p>He was sitting on a bed.</p><p>
  <em>Right, I'm home. I made it home...</em>
</p><p>He felt tears rise in his eyes and hastily wiped them away. Fumbling for the lamp on the nightstand, he squinted when the light hit his eyes. He then looked down at his elbow, to find an IV stuck into it. Damian blinked in surprise at it.</p><p>
  <em>How long was I... unconscious?... asleep?... lost in memory?</em>
</p><p>He carefully pulled out the needle and pressed the band-aid, that had held it in place, against the wound.</p><p>He then got up onto wobbly, stiff legs and slowly made his way to the door of his room. He stuck his head out. It was dark. Nighttime. Father was probably on patrol and Alfred was either down in the cave, or already asleep. Damian slowly padded across the hallway to the bathroom.</p><p>Once there he stared at the toilet for a few heartbeats. He would sit down to pee.</p><p>There was no way he was touching his cock.</p><p>Damian wouldn't even look at the traitorous thing.</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Warm, calloused fingers run over the sensitive skin, touching him where no one but him has touched before, eliciting feelings that he doesn't want. This man has no right to take this from him, and yet he is.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>“<em><b>Doesn't that feel good, Little Bird?”</b></em></p><p>Damian squeezed his eyes shut and yanked the pajama pants he was wearing down.</p><p>
  <em>I'm not going to think about that, I am not.</em>
</p><p>After doing his business and washing his hands, Damian quickly brushes his teeth, because he hasn't for a week and the inside of his mouth tastes like cotton. He notices only his own toothbrush and cup standing by the sink, which is odd. He shares this bathroom with Timothy, Father having his own en suite bathroom and Richard, Jason and Steph would usually sleep in the westwing of the house, should they stay overnight, which had it's own bathroom. It was only him and Timothy in this one, so it was quite strange not to see the older boy's-</p><p>
  <em>Dead people don't need a toothbrush.</em>
</p><p>The grief hit Damian like a sledgehammer. His legs gave out and he crashed to his knees, a cry ripping from his throat as white-hot pain flared up his insides. He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, fear gripping his heart like icy claws.</p><p>He had made a noise, and a loud one, too. He was going to be punished, he was going to be punished. He'd get the Broom and- and it would last <em>hours. </em></p><p>
  <em>Bluebeard's gonna come and- but, but Timothy, oh god, oh no, please, I'm sorry!</em>
</p><p>He curled up into a ball, knowing that it would be harder for the man to take him to the Flower Room like this, because he'd have to pry him apart first. It made him angry, made him more brutal, but Damian would do anything to prolong the inevitable.</p><p>The door opened with a call of: “Master Damian?”, that the boy didn't quite hear as his breath started to come in too fast gasps.</p><p>He clawed at his throat as invisible fingers began to choke him. He tried to pry them off, but found nothing but his own skin. He was going to die! He was going to get strangled this time!</p><p>A wet washcloth was placed on the back of his neck and the sudden cold snapped Damian out of his panic with a shocked gasp.</p><p>“Deep breaths, Master Damian.”, Alfred said.</p><p>The old butler was kneeling in front of him, not crowding him or touching him in any way, having retreated after placing the soaked cloth over his neck.</p><p>Damian looked at him through teary eyes, reaching to take the washcloth and uncurling slightly.</p><p>“It is good to see you awake, you were unresponsive for the entirety of yesterday.”</p><p>Damian blinked, surprised. He had been out of it for an entire day?</p><p>He looked down and squeezed the washcloth between his fingers, water dripping onto his pajama pants.</p><p>His heart ached and he felt tears run down his face.</p><p>“May I ask what brought this on?”</p><p>Damian raised his head and opened his mouth, but his throat closed up immediately and a terrible, invasive fear took hold of him. He knew intellectually, that nothing would happen if he spoke, there would be no punishment, no Broom, but. But no sound came out of his mouth and he clicked it shut.</p><p>He slowly raised a hand and pointed at the sink, where Timothy's things normally stood.</p><p>Alfred followed his gaze and seemed confused for a moment before it clicked and he recognized what the issue was.</p><p>“Ah, Master Timothy's things are at the hospital with him. He is currently in a coma and a resident of the intensive care unit. If you feel ready for it, we can visit him.”</p><p>Damian didn't know what to do with the jumble of joy and relief that flooded him, so he simply hugged his knees close and rested his cheek on them, allowing the tears to leak freely from his eyes.</p><p>His grandfather's face softened.</p><p>“He is alive and he will come back to us. Lord knows that boy won't stay asleep for long.”</p><p>Damian's lips quirked up at that.</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Commissioner Gordon had a distinct kind of sadness in his eyes as he sat across from him in the sitting room. The GPD wanted to know what had happened. How he had escaped.</p><p>Damian wasn't sure if he was ready to recount it. He wasn't even sure if he could speak. His throat had refused to work, since he woke up last night, as soon as he tried to speak, terror would grip him and clog up his airways.</p><p>“You can write it down, if you are having trouble finding the words.”, his Father's voice rumbled.</p><p>He was sitting next to him on the couch, close enough that Damian could feel the heat radiating off his body, but not close enough to touch.</p><p>“Share as much as you are comfortable with, if you want to hand in more details later, you can do it at any time. There's no need to rush.”</p><p>The commissioner's kind brown eyes met with Damian's sad, green one's and the boy took a bit of strength from his steadfast gaze.</p><p>Damian took up the pen and wrote with shaking fingers about his week in hell. The closer he came to the end of it, the messier his handwriting got and he actually had to stop and shake out his cramping fingers. He stared, surprised, he had already written three pages and he wasn't even done.</p><p>He was leaving out certain things, though, and he felt slightly guilty about it.</p><p>He had written about the fact that, for the first two days, Bluebeard had pulled him up by the chain around his neck, choking him until he blacked out, only for him to awaken in the Flower Room. (He had left out that when Damian had woken, the man had already been inside him, had left out that he had made him scream and cry and beg.)</p><p>He had written about being trapped in the small, damp cellar. (He had left out that Damian would sometimes black out from the pain and find himself in the dark, lying in a pool of his own piss and sick.)</p><p>He had written about being tied down on the table where he was violated. (He had left out that sometimes Bluebeard had forced him to come and that it was worse than the pain.)</p><p>(He had left out the Broom.)</p><p>He exhaled shakily and slowly began to write out the last day he had spent with Bluebeard. As he finished describing how he had killed him, a drop of liquid landed on the paper, smudging the ink. Another one joined it, and another, staining the document.</p><p>Damian hastily leaned back, confused as to where the water was coming from. Then he noticed that he was shaking and that everything looked slightly blurred and he touched his cheeks, only to have his fingers come away wet.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, I'm crying... When did that happen?</em>
</p><p>He stared at his fingers, uncomprehending. Then he blinked and suddenly they were encrusted with blood, brain matter and flesh drying under his fingernails. Damian's eyes widened in horror and he started scratching at it, trying to get it off, but it<em> wouldn't come off, why is it not coming off?!</em></p><p>“Habibi... stop.”, Father reached for him, to still his hands.</p><p>Damian flinched so violently, he almost fell off the couch.</p><p>His Father jerked his hand back as if burned and for a moment they just stared at each other, both shocked at Damian's reaction.</p><p>The boy squeezed his eyes shut and folded himself in half, it was an odd position, his legs dangling of the couch and his face pressed into his lap. He put his hands over the back of his neck, where the skin was bruised from the collar. There was a roaring in his ears and Damian got lost in the sound of it.</p><p>He sat up slowly. His back ached and his legs felt like lead. The last rays of the dying sun were painting the room red. It was evening. Damian had written the report in the morning.</p><p>“Good, you're back.”</p><p>Richard was sitting on the opposite couch, in the same spot the commissioner had occupied earlier that day, a book was open in his lap.</p><p>“I hope your back isn't hurting too badly. We tried to lay you down on the couch, but you kept going back into the same position. We were really worried. Bruce kept trying to ask what was wrong, but you just repeated everything he said.”</p><p>Damian felt something cold sink into his stomach. He remembered none of that.</p><p>“Was it too much? Speaking about it so soon?”</p><p>The young boy looked at his lap, his emotions were a mess and his head felt like it was stuffed full with cotton.</p><p>He didn't know what was happening to him, he was scared and confused, and he wanted nothing more than to just sink into his brother's arms and scream and cry for hours.</p><p>But the mere thought of being touched made his skin crawl and there's also the fact that Damian's hands were awash in blood, that there were bone fragments sticking to his face, that there was viscera in his hair, that there was cum drying on his stomach and leaking from his hole, that piss and dirt were painting his arms and legs. He couldn't touch anyone, least of all his family, when he was the human embodiment of filth.</p><p>Logically, Damian knew that he was clean, but he could still feel it, all of it, no matter how much he scrubbed himself in the shower. (Damian had spent the entire morning in a scalding hot shower, until his skin had been pink and raw, covering his arms and legs in scratches and tearing out hairs as he scrubbed at his scalp. His father had to tell him to get out, or he would've probably spent all day in it, peeling off his own skin in an effort to feel clean again.)</p><p>Damian bit his lip. He wanted to speak, but knew that he couldn't.</p><p>
  <em>Good wives are silent, silent, silent.</em>
</p><p>But, there was a way for him to speak without making sound.</p><p>He lifted his hands, which were shaking. <em><b>Trembling, trembling, trembling, such a scared Little Bird.</b></em></p><p>//Is- Is Father mad?//, he signed.</p><p>For a heartbeat, his older brother blinked at him.</p><p>“Why would he be mad?”</p><p>//Because I killed him. Bats don't kill.//</p><p>The young man's face softened, something sad swimming in his midnight blue eyes.</p><p>It felt like pity.</p><p>“Oh, Dami, no. Bruce isn't mad. That wasn't- It was self-defence. You're not a murderer, Little D.”</p><p>The brothers jerked in surprise, as their father spoke from where he was leaning against the doorframe.</p><p>“Dick is right, Habibi, I could never be angry at you for that. It's the reason you returned to us alive. Had I been in your situation, I would have honestly done the same.”</p><p>And Damian sagged against the backrest of the couch, a weight having been lifted from his chest.</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Damian sat at the kitchen table, staring at his breakfast. He had only drank vegetable juice for the last two days, his stomach needing to be introduced to normal foods slowly after he had only consumed water for a week. He would get mashed foods, mashed potatoes, mashed chickpeas, the like, for the next two days, before he could start eating solids again.</p><p>Right now, a bowl of mashed avocado sat in front of him, it was seasoned only lightly, with a bit of lemon juice and salt. It wasn't an unusual sight to Damian, although he would usually spread that on a piece of toast.</p><p>There was a small, childish, part of him that was actually giddy that he'd get to eat all the spread without bread, and he was more than happy to pick up the spoon.</p><p>“Now, I know you are hungry, Master Damian, but please remember to eat slowly. We don't want to overtly tax your stomach, do we?”, Alfred reminded him, with a hint of sternness.</p><p>Damian nodded bashfully and swallowed some of the saliva that had gathered in his mouth, schooling his excitement.</p><p>He ate slowly, savoring each spoonful, the bowl was still empty far too quickly and he gave Alfred his best impression of a puppy. While Damian <em>did </em>feel full, he could definitely pack away just a tiny bit more.</p><p>It just felt really good to have something other than liquid in his stomach.</p><p>The butler chuckled.</p><p>“I'm sorry, Master Damian, but you'll have to wait until lunch.”</p><p>The boy sank low in his chair, pouting.</p><p>If there was any good that came of this, then it was that Damian would definitely appreciate food more. He had never gone hungry, truly hungry, before, and suddenly felt incredibly thankful for that.</p><p>He remembered how his stomach had growled and growled, like a pack of angry dogs, how it had hurt and cramped, how he had chugged the entire bottle of water, that he'd get for the day, just so his stomach would feel full for a bit.</p><p>He remembered how, at the end of the week, he had almost liked the feel of cum going down his throat, just because it was something other than water.</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>So eager, My Dove, you like the taste of me?</b>
  </em>
</p><p>Damian felt the color drain from his face, his stomach gurgled ominously and sudden nausea stole his breath.</p><p>He gagged and made a dive for the cupboard under the sink, pulling out the trashcan just in time to spew out the meager contents of his stomach.</p><p>It still tasted vaguely like avocado, which made the boy heave again. He spat out a last mouthful of bile mixed with stomach acid and leaned his brow against the rim of the trashcan. He lifted his head and banged it against the rim twice, before squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears that sprang to his eyes. God he was such a crybaby.</p><p>“Did you eat too fast, Habibi?”, Father asked, having half-risen from his seat in concern.</p><p>Damian shook his head.</p><p>//No...I... it's... just memories.//</p><p>“Would you like me to prepare another meal for you?”</p><p>The boy shook his head at Alfred's question. His stomach felt too raw, he didn't want to eat again.</p><p>//I'll wait until lunch.//</p><p>With that he made his way to the downstairs bathroom, to rinse out his mouth.</p><p>Once he had done that, Damian sank onto the floor, sitting down carefully, and buried his face in his knees.</p><p>
  <em>I hate this. I want to be normal again.</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Over the next two weeks, it became routine for Alfred to check all of the manor's bathrooms to see if Damian was in one of them, either washing his hands until they were raw, puking up his last meal, or sitting next to the toilet with glassy eyes.</p><p>Should the last one occur, then he'd gently coax the boy to his feet and Damian would follow him, either to the living room, or his own room, swaying slightly.</p><p>He wasn't entirely gone, in those cases, but he wasn't all there either.</p><p>The sitting next to the toilet in a stupor happened because Damian had run into a problem that he didn't quite know how to deal with.</p><p>Damian couldn't defecate.</p><p>Memories of being torn open, of being split apart, feeling like he was going to tear in two, assaulted him as soon as he tried and so he just, didn't.</p><p>He was almost grateful that he threw up about a quarter of his meals, because it meant there was less in his digestive tract. He knew that this was terribly unhealthy and would make him sick, but he didn't know how to talk to anyone about it.</p><p>How was he supposed to tell someone that he was too scared to take a shit? It was too embarrassing.</p><p>Damian was starting to feel miserable, because of it too. His belly was hard and ached, and he hated the feeling of fullness, it reminded him too much of a different kind of being filled. This sent him into terrible bouts of crying, where he just laid on his side, silently letting the tears fall and not wanting any of his family near.</p><p>He was trapped in a loop, where he both needed to use the toilet, but wanted to avoid it as much as possible. Damian was the loser, no matter what.</p><p>It all came to a head when he was visiting Jason. His older brother had first dropped by a week after Damian's return, Roy in tow. The three of them had sat down and talked for a long time.</p><p>Damian had been quite surprised by the outpouring of guilt by the older teen and done his best to reassure him that it was in no way his fault.</p><p>He ended up feeling a lot closer to his wayward brother than before and decided that he would try hard to maintain this newfound relationship with him.</p><p>Roy, too, the archer had a bit of a calming effect on Damian, his presence being a strangely soothing one.</p><p>He wondered if it was one of the reasons why Jason had gravitated towards him and why their relationship was such a strong one. His brother did have his own issues with trauma, after all.</p><p>Damian's little problem reared it's ugly head on a visit to the two vigilante's residence. It was actually the first time the boy had left the manor and he had felt a bit antsy about leaving the safety of his home.</p><p>He needn't have worried. Damian had felt his anxiety melt away upon entering the apartment, greeting his brother and his boyfriend and having a short chat with them, before Lian had come barreling out of her room.</p><p>The little girl had babbled at him excitedly, telling him all about her stay with Grampa Ollie and inviting him to play a board-game with her.</p><p>She had also been very careful not to touch him, or move too quickly in his direction, Roy and Jason, probably having talked to her about that.</p><p>Damian was actually having a good time, listening to the two adults talk as Jason prepared lunch.</p><p>He shouldn't have eaten, that's when it all went downhill.</p><p>His stomach had given a gurgle and the boy had hopped up, thinking that he was going to throw up, but that's when a sharp pain had lanced through his intestines and he'd doubled over.</p><p>“Dami?”, Lian had asked, worried.</p><p>“You gonna puke up my cooking?”, Jason had tried to tease, but his voice had sounded strained.</p><p>Damian had breathed harshly through his nose, trying to straighten up.</p><p>“Easy, Dames. Think you can make it to the bathroom?”</p><p>Roy had gotten up from the table and grabbed a bowl from a cupboard, just in case Damian decided to empty his stomach right then and there.</p><p>It seemed, however, that Damian's body had had enough and promptly shut down.</p><p>He was already out like a light by the time Roy caught him.</p><p>Damian blinked awake and immediately froze in terror. He was lying face-down and- and his butt was sore.</p><p>He started to tremble, but then a familiar voice came from his right and he felt the sharp ball of panic in his chest melt away.</p><p>“You're in the hospital, Damian.”</p><p>The boy lifted himself onto his elbows and looked over at Jason.</p><p>His older brother leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>“You scared the shit out of Lian, hell, you scared the shit outta <em>me.</em><span>”</span></p><p>Damian slowly rolled onto his back, wincing slightly.</p><p>//I'm sorry.//</p><p>He touched his belly in surprise, he felt empty.</p><p>“It's alright, kid... They, uh, they had to clean out your bowels.”</p><p>Mortification made his face heat and he quickly hid his burning cheeks behind his palms.</p><p>“Why didn't you say anything? If you can't go to the toilet cause it hurts, or something, then you need to tell people about that. Damian you could've died from this.”</p><p>The boy shrank into himself, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes to stem the flow of tears.</p><p>
  <span>He hated that he cried about fucking </span>
  <em>everything </em>
  <span>now.</span>
</p><p>//I- I'm sorry... it's just... it's embarrassing.//</p><p>Jason frowned and uncrossed his arms.</p><p>“If you felt uncomfortable telling Bruce or Alfred, then you could've told Dick, or me. This is about your health, Baby Bat. If something's wrong, then speak up.”</p><p>Damian fidgeted with the blanket, but nodded.</p><p>//Okay.//</p><p>The older teen raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“You promise?”</p><p>//I promise.//</p><p>“Good. They wanna keep you in here for tomorrow, too. Longer, if your fever doesn't break.”</p><p>
  <span>Damian blinked and lifted a hand to the back of his neck. He hadn't been aware that he'd been running a fever.</span>
</p><p>Jason then rubbed a hand over his face, got up and sat down on the bed. His turquoise eyes were earnest as he looked at him.</p><p>“Damian, the doctor said that there's no physical reason for this. While you've got some pretty bad scarring, your anus should work just fine. So why? Why are you holding it in? You looked like you were in pain, you fainted, why do this to yourself?”</p><p>The boy turned his head away, fisting his hands in the sheets. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, before releasing it shakily and turning back to face his brother.</p><p>
  <span>//It's... I don't like the feeling... it's like...</span>
  <em>that</em>
  <span>... a-and I know, that I'm not hurt anymore and- and there's no physical pain, but... but it still hurts.//</span>
</p><p>Jason ran a hand through his hair, mumbling a quiet 'shit' under his breath.</p><p>“<span>Jesus, that must suck... I-I don't know how to help you with that... Have you spoken to your therapist about it? You </span><em>are</em><span> seeing a therapist, right?”</span></p><p>Damian nodded.</p><p>//Yes, I had my first session on Monday. She's nice.//</p><p>The older male smiled at that.</p><p>“Good, that's good. Ah, you should tell her the next time you see her. You need to work on that ASAP.”</p><p>//I will.... Thank you, Jason.//</p><p>The older one gave him his usual, lopsided grin.</p><p>“Hey, what are big brother's for?”</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Damian slowly walked along the hallway, half-hidden behind his father. His fever had broken in the night and he would be released tomorrow morning. But while he was here, he would visit Stephanie and Timothy for the first time.</p><p>The hallway was busy and Damian felt his skin prickle with discomfort. His heart was pounding and he stifled a yelp as a nurse hurried past them.</p><p>They reached Timothy's room and opened the door.</p><p>Damian's breath caught.</p><p>Timothy was lying on his back, his head was shorn, only a light dusting of stubble covering it and a large gauze patch was stuck to the side of it. There was purple and yellow bruising around his eyes and a tube had been stuck down his throat, a tube that was attached to a machine that, apparently, breathed for him.</p><p>Damian slowly stepped closer, his hands shaking and the steady beep of a heart monitor filling his ears.</p><p>His boyfriend's left arm and leg were in a cast and his hip was seemingly pinned into place by a strange contraption. There were several tubes sticking out of him, one was attached to an IV, another went into his side and was, seemingly, draining blood and other fluids from his lung and a third tube came out from underneath the blanket and went into a bag that was attached to the side of the bed, it being a catheter.</p><p>“He mostly landed on his left, his skull fractured and they had to perform surgery, it's uncertain how much cognitive function he'll have. His left leg and arm are broken in several places, it's unclear whether he'll regain full functionality of them. His hip was completely shattered and he broke three ribs, one of which pierced his lung, causing it to collapse. There was some internal bleeding, as well, and they had to remove his left kidney, which is not great for his immune system, considering that he's already missing his spleen.”, Father had gone around the bed and taken Timothy's right hand in his, “But, he'll pull through... I know he will.”</p><p>Damian wasn't entirely sure how to feel in that moment. On one hand, he was incredibly relieved that his boyfriend was alive at all, on the other...</p><p>
  <em>Oh, Timothy... you're so terribly hurt...</em>
</p><p>He stepped closer, reaching out a hand to trace the graceful arch of his brow, or run his knuckles over the gentle slope of his cheek, but his hand stopped, hovering and trembling slightly.</p><p>He couldn't. He couldn't taint Timothy with his dirty hands.</p><p>Damian yanked his hand back and tucked it underneath his armpit, hugging himself and hunching over slightly.</p><p>“It's alright, Damian. I'm sure Tim would welcome your touch.”</p><p>The boy's eyes widened and he felt bile rise in his throat.</p><p>He hadn't even thought about the fact that Timothy couldn't consent to being touched. And what did that say about him? That he would just touch without asking? That he would take, and take, and take. Until there was nothing left. Until Timothy was as hollow as him, as ruined.</p><p>Damian gagged and hastily threw open the door to the small bathroom, stumbling to his knees to empty his stomach into the toilet.</p><p>He rested his flushed face against the cool bowl for a heartbeat, then he flushed, rinsed out his mouth and stepped back out. It had become routine at this point.</p><p>“How about we go visit Steph, hm? She got her bandages removed a few days ago. I'm sure she'd love to see you.”</p><p>Damian nodded, wiping at his leaking eyes.</p><p>
  <em>
    <b>Crying, crying, always crying. Such a sad, little dove.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>Father rapped gently at Stephanie's door, before entering.</p><p>Richard was there, sitting on the bed, one arm wrapped around his girlfriend.</p><p>Damian stopped dead in his tracks.</p><p>He had, of course, heard what had happened to the blonde, had been horrified that someone could do that to another person, but he hadn't been prepared for the extent of the damage.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, I look like melted ice cream.”, the girl rasped, self-depreciating.</p><p>Damian's eyes widened at her voice.</p><p>“You're still beautiful, Steph.”</p><p>Stephanie rolled her eyes at her boyfriend, although her expression did seem more cheerful.</p><p>“Only you think so, Dick.”</p><p>“That doesn't make it less true.”</p><p>Damian slowly sat down on the chair by her bedside.</p><p>//You don't look that bad. How are you feeling?//</p><p>She shrugged.</p><p>“It's kinda weird. I don't really hurt anymore, but I can barely feel my face and there are some parts of my body that I don't feel at all, at least not the surface. Oh, and my left ear is fucked. It sounds like everything is underwater, since the shell of my ear decided to fuse with my skull. How are you? I heard about your little escapade. You really wanted to join the hospital club, huh?”</p><p>Damian flushed in embarrassment and ducked his head.</p><p>“It's okay, Little D. Did you visit Tim yet?”</p><p>The boy lifted his hands to sign.</p><p>//Th-That's- Whe-wher-where w-w-we-.//</p><p>He stopped, his hands were shaking too badly for him to form the proper signs and he knotted them together in his lap.</p><p>“We just did... I think it might've been a bit much.”</p><p>Damian pulled his legs up on the chair and wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin on his knees.</p><p>Stephanie made a motion as if to run her hand through her hair, but stopped, her hand hovering in the air awkwardly for a moment.</p><p>“I went yesterday. It's weird seeing him like that. He looks so... fragile.”</p><p>Richard nodded, sending Damian a worried look.</p><p>“He's gonna be okay, though...”, he tried.</p><p>Damian buried his face in his knees. First Father and now Richard too. All this forced optimism was making him nauseous.</p><p>Timothy didn't deserve this. He deserved honesty and a realistic outlook of his recovery chances. Or maybe they were just being like that because of him? Damian was, after all, fragile too. Like a piece of china that had been broken and glued together and was now being handled with even more care than before. Damian didn't like it, but he also didn't hate it. He knew that if everyone just pretended like nothing had happened, then he'd go insane. He'd probably break even further, so maybe it was good that people were trying to be gentle with him.</p><p>
  <em>Like the attention, don't you, you little whore?</em>
</p><p>There was a soft clattering noise and Damian lifted his head in confusion. The boy then realized with horror that he was trembling so hard, he was rattling the chair.</p><p>The other three were staring at him and Damian hid his face again. The word <em>attention-whore</em><span> was rattling around inside his skull and Damian was almost grateful when the familiar buzzing sound, that heralded a catatonic episode, started to fill his ears.</span></p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Damian blinked and found himself lying curled up at the foot of Stephanie's bed. He lifted his head and looked at the girl, who was scrolling through her phone. It was late afternoon, he had been out for a few hours.</p><p>“Oh, cool. You're back. That's kind of freaky, you know, especially the repeating stuff part.”</p><p>Damian flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.</p><p>//My therapist calls it echolalia. I'm not aware that I'm doing it, otherwise I would probably have a panic attack.//</p><p>Stephanie set her phone aside and tilted her head to the side, the slanted light painting odd shadows on the marred surface of her face.</p><p>Damian kind of wanted to draw her.</p><p>“Damian... Why are you so afraid of speaking?”</p><p>The boy looked at her and she just looked back, her cornflower eyes calm.</p><p>Damian swallowed and slowly lifted his hands.</p><p>//He- He punished me when I spoke, when I made any noise, really. Good- G-Good wives are silent.//</p><p>“Jesus, what an asshole... But, uh, you know that nothing's gonna happen, right? No one's gonna punish you for speaking, or hell, even if you just cry or laugh, it would be enough.”</p><p>Damian looked away, he <em>knew</em> that nothing would happen. He was still afraid.</p><p>There was a soft sigh from the burned young woman and Damian felt the mattress dip beside him. He glanced over, alarmed at her sudden proximity. She was sitting cross-legged next to where he was lying, her knee only an inch from touching his hip.</p><p>“Dami, Bruce told us what happened in Tim's room. Was it the consent thing that set you off, or something else?”</p><p>The younger teen bit his lip, worrying at the sensitive skin.</p><p>//I-I hadn't thought about that until father mentioned it. It- the mere thought of- of hurting Timothy that way it- it-//</p><p>“Oh, Dami. You know, if Tim were awake then he would love nothing more than to hold your hand and feel your touch. Even if he can't say it right now, I'm sure he misses you more than anything and would want to know that you are there with him.”</p><p>And Damian, Damian couldn't take it anymore.</p><p>//But I'm gross! I'm disgusting, and used, and dirty! I don't want to taint Timothy with my touch, don't want to spread my filth to him, or to Father, or anyone!//</p><p>“Sweetie, no... You're not dirty! What that monster did to you was terrible and disgusting, but that doesn't mean we don't want to touch you anymore. I know for a fact that Dick would like nothing more than to hug you close and never let you go. Now, if you're uncomfortable with being held, then that is another story, but, Damian, you're not disgusting and if you want one of us to hug you or just hold hands, or any form of physical comfort, then you only need to ask for it. I promise, we all would be more than happy to provide it.”</p><p>It was like her words had torn open a hole inside of Damian and he suddenly, painfully, remembered all the times he had yearned for physical touch. How often he had wanted to take Father's hand, or have Richard run his fingers through his hair, small things, because he wasn't sure he could stand more, especially from a man.</p><p>But Damian had always held back, because his hands were covered in blood, weren't they?</p><p>
  <em>Father and Richard said that that was okay, though... Father even said he would've done the same.</em>
</p><p>Damian could feel tears run down his temples and into his hair.</p><p>//Can-Can I hold your hand?//</p><p>A warm, soft hand was immediately in his, fingers twining, and the boy threw his other arm over his eyes, an ache in his chest easing.</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Damian awoke with a scream trapped in his throat. He looked around his room, grateful for the dim lighting his nightlight provided. His therapist had suggested the idea after Damian had mentioned that he sometimes went into a panic upon waking in the dark. Father had gotten him the light on their way home from the therapist's office. It was Batman themed.</p><p>Damian took a deep breath, the remnants of his nightmare still clinging to him. He startled at the feeling of his pajamas clinging to him and immediately jumped out of bed, dread pooling in his stomach. He hadn't come in his sleep, had he? He couldn't have! Especially not since he had been dreaming about the Flower Room!</p><p>Then Damian realized that, not only were his sheets soaked, but also his pajama bottoms and even his shirt was partially wet.</p><p>
  <em>What the-?</em>
</p><p>That's when the smell hit him. It wasn't cum, it was <em>urine. </em></p><p>Damain had wet the bed. He was going to be fifteen in two months and he had wet the bed. Like a <em>child.</em></p><p>With mortification heating his cheeks, he began to strip the bed and carried the soiled bedding to the hamper in the bathroom, he also took off his nightclothes and threw them in there as well.</p><p>Then he took a very hot shower, feeling disgusted with himself.</p><p>He scampered back to his room to get dressed and stared at the bed in slight horror.</p><p>The mattress was wet. He couldn't just put fresh sheets on and pretend it had never happened.</p><p>He also, didn't quite know what to do now. Should he tell Alfred? He would now as soon as he did the laundry anyway. Damian just hoped that he hadn't ruined the mattress. Not that they couldn't afford a new one, but still.</p><p>What if it kept happening?</p><p>The thought made his cheeks burn. This was just a one-time fluke, right? This couldn't keep happening.</p><p>He slunk down the stairs and froze when he heard laughter from the kitchen.</p><p>Right, his eldest brother and Stephanie were over because they had celebrated Stephanie's release from the hospital with an impromptu movie night. It had been fun.</p><p>Now, Damian almost wished it hadn't happened.</p><p>He snuck into the kitchen, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.</p><p>“Good morning, Master Damian.”, Alfred greeted from the kitchen counter.</p><p>“Good morning, Damian, you're up late. Did you have a good night?”, Father asked, setting down his coffee.</p><p>Damian gripped his elbows in a white-knuckled grip and shook his head, cheeks slowly reddening.</p><p>“Did you have a bad dream?”, Stephanie asked gently and Damian nodded, sitting down at the table.</p><p>He felt bad, guilty. He should definitely tell Alfred about the wet mattress before it dried.</p><p>Oh god, Alfred wouldn't be angry, would he?</p><p>Damian hadn't done it on purpose, it just, happened.</p><p>“Are you all right, Dames?”</p><p>The boy didn't dare to look up as he shakily signed the words.</p><p>//I-I had a bit of an accident while I was asleep.//</p><p>“Oh? The type of accident that teen-aged boys sometimes have?”, Richard asked.</p><p>He sounded amused, which set Damian's heart to galloping. What if they laughed at him?</p><p>“Dick!”, Stephanie hissed, “Considering the circumstances, it's totally okay if it freaked you out, sweetie.”</p><p>And Damian's face started to burn, now he almost wished it had been that.</p><p>//It was more the type of accident that toddlers have.//</p><p>“Oh. I'll be taking care of that. No need to worry, Master Damian.”</p><p>And with that the old butler left the kitchen.</p><p>The boy quickly hid his face in his hands, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him.</p><p>“Aw, Little D, there's no need to be embarrassed about that. It happened to me too! The first year after my parents died, I wet the bed all the time.”</p><p>Damian peeked at his older brother from in between his fingers.</p><p>Stephanie nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, it happened a few times during my pregnancy, too. Believe me, there's nothing worse than peeing the bed, while you already feel like the grossest being on earth.”</p><p>Damian stifled a snort at that, he had arrived during Stephanie's last two months of pregnancy and remembers being both vaguely fascinated and weirded out by it.</p><p>//I remember how you waddled around the cave. You were pretty big.//</p><p>Stephanie made an offended noise.</p><p>“Yeah, well you try carrying around a seven pound baby as a barely fifteen year-old, of course I was huge and- wait. Is that where the Fatgirl nickname came from?”</p><p>Damian gave her a grin.</p><p>//It might have been... Ten year-old me was a brat.//</p><p>She harrumphed and crossed her arms over her chest.</p><p>“Yeah, I'd say that again.”, then her expression softened, “I'm glad he grew into such a sweetheart, though. It's nice to see you smile again.”</p><p>The boy ducked his head slightly, feeling his cheeks warm.</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>Damian made some good progress over the next two months. He only had two more catatonic episodes and he cried less. He allowed small touches and would sometimes just walk up to a member of his family and take their hand, following them to wherever they went. Jason had called him a lost duckling once and Damian had stuck out his tongue in response, he had allowed his brother to ruffle his hair after, a grin tugging at his lips. He also managed to keep most of his food down and he could, still reluctantly, use the toilet. Wetting the bed, however, had become a regular problem and he was experiencing terrible nightmares frequently. His therapist had assured him that it was part of the process, that his mind was trying to work through the trauma and using dreams as a method to process it. Damian kind of wished that it didn't, he was sleeping terribly as a result.</p><p>He still couldn't talk.</p><p>His therapist had tried to breach the topic once, but Damian had immediately shut down, refusing to communicate any further.</p><p>He had kind of felt like an asshole about it, but there was no way he was talking about the Broom.</p><p>“Come on Baby Bat, time to blow out the candles.”</p><p>Damian followed Jason into the kitchen, where the rest of his family were waiting.</p><p>Fifteen candles were lighting up the birthday cake sitting on the table.</p><p>The boy smiled, took a deep breath and blew out the candles.</p><p>“Happy Birthday, Damian!”</p><p>He grinned at the well wishes and was more than happy to eat his slice of cake. (And maybe a second one, just because he could.)</p><p>“I can't believe he's fifteen already. It feels like he was just a tiny ten year-old yesterday!”, Richard said dramatically.</p><p>“Well, to be fair, he's not that much taller than he was at ten.”, Jason commented.</p><p>Damian threw a glare at his older brother.</p><p>Father chuckled.</p><p>“He takes after my mother pretty heavily and Martha Wayne was, unfortunately, a very small woman.”</p><p>Damian blinked in surprise at that and tilted his head to the side.</p><p>//I resemble Grandmother?//</p><p>His father smiled.</p><p>“You do. I see a lot of her mannerisms in you. You have her smile, for example, and the way you duck your head when you're trying to hide a smile or a blush? She used to do the very same thing, although it was a smile more often than not, Mother didn't really blush a lot, you get that from Talia.”</p><p>Stephanie almost spat out her lemonade.</p><p>“Talia is a blusher?!”</p><p>Damian's mouth dropped open as well. He couldn't really imagine his mother pinking in embarrassment, or god forbid, bashfulness.</p><p>Father snorted.</p><p>“She used to go red as a tomato around me. It was quite fun to tease her.”</p><p>They all jumped when there was the sound of ceramic shattering, all of a sudden.</p><p>“Ah, I'm sorry! I'm sorry!”, Lian wailed, she had dropped her plate off the table.</p><p>Roy reached out for his daughter, wiping the tears from her eyes.</p><p>“It's alright, princess, it's just a plate. You didn't hurt yourself, did you?”</p><p>“Nuh-uh.”, she sniffled, shaking her head.</p><p>“I will be right back.”, Alfred said, before hurrying out.</p><p>“So, how does it feel to be fifteen? Your halfway through puberty now.”</p><p>Damian turned towards Jason with a shrug.</p><p>//Doesn't feel all that different than being fourteen.//</p><p>“Eh, give it a few months. I feel like 15/16 was the worst of puberty.”, Richard said.</p><p>“That's because you were an asshole at that age. I mean you went off at 16 to become Discowing because you were butthurt about me, so.”</p><p>Jason smirked at his brother who rolled his eyes.</p><p>“At least I wasn't blown up.”</p><p>“Low blow, Golden Boy.”</p><p>Stephanie piped up, to stop the brothers from breaking into bickering.</p><p>“I kinda feel like Dami's got the worst of it out during his preteen years, you know? And Tim didn't really have an asshole phase, I mean he was a creepy little weirdo when he was twelve, but not really an asshole.”</p><p>“What about his fights with Dami? They were both absolute dicks to each other during that time.”</p><p>//Well there was-//</p><p>Damian never finished the sentence, because at that moment Alfred came back.</p><p>He was carrying a broom.</p><p>Damian's chair clattered as it hit the ground, he stumbled backwards until he hit the wall. His heart was pounding in his ears and his breath came in short painful gasps. He sank to the ground and curled into a ball.</p><p>He didn't understand. He had been <em>good! </em></p><p>For the first time since he had come back home, for the first time in almost three months, Damian made a voluntary sound. He opened his mouth and <em>screamed. </em></p><p>
  <em>
    <b>I'm sorry, Little Bird, but good wives are silent. This hurts me more than it hurts you.</b>
  </em>
</p><p>The boy was sobbing now, wailing like a child, because once the Broom came out there was no reason to stay silent anymore, he'd be punished whether he was quiet during or not.</p><p>“Damian! Dami, it's okay!”</p><p>“What's going on? He was fine just a second ago.”</p><p>“I don't know! I've never seen him like this!”</p><p>“Everybody <em>out!</em><span>”</span></p><p>There were soft hands on either side of his face, lifting it gently. He panicked for a heartbeat, but the hands were too small, too kind, to be Bluebeard's.</p><p>Stephanie looked at him with her soft, bright eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs.</p><p>Damian hiccuped and blinked, his eyelashes were clumping together.</p><p>“Deep breaths, sweetie. There we go.”</p><p>The boy leaned into her touch, finding it grounding, and took deep gulping breaths.</p><p>“Do you want to tell me what happened there? You don't have to, if you don't want to.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, feeling a mixture of shame and terror well up within him.</p><p>//It... It was the broom...//</p><p>“The broom...?”</p><p>He nodded, avoiding her gaze.</p><p>//I told you that he... he would punish me when I made noise, right?//</p><p>He could feel her fingers twitch on his cheeks and her voice was angry when she spoke.</p><p>“And he beat you up with a broom for it?”</p><p>And Damian, Damian wanted to laugh. Oh, how he <em>wished </em><span>he had done that.</span></p><p>//No... he... he put it... he put it inside...//</p><p>Stephanie made a noise as if somebody had punched her in the stomach, all the air wooshing from her lungs at once.</p><p>“He- He what...?”</p><p>And suddenly it came all bubbling out of him, his hand signs frantic and hasty.</p><p>//He-He would take me to the- to the Flower Room and- and he would strap me down on the- the table and just... take the broom and- and shove the handle into me... and- and- and it hurt, Stephanie, it hurt so bad... because- because the -the wood was old and there were- were splinters that-that I had to... that I had to dig out later and- and... it- it went so deep... I thought- I thought it was going to- going to come out of my throat and- and just skewer me... I was so scared... I still am.//</p><p>Stephanie looked ashen, tears glistening in her own eyes as well.</p><p>“Oh, Sweetheart, that's- that's terrible... I- Oh god, I just want to hug you- but I know you're not ready for that and-”</p><p>Damian surprised both himself and her, by throwing his arms around her and burying his face in her neck.</p><p>Stephanie froze for a moment, before gently embracing him, resting her cheek on the top of his head.</p><p>“You're okay, Dami. No one's ever going to hurt you like that again. And- And if you want to talk about anything, then I'll always listen, no matter what. I promise.”</p><p>Damian tightened his hold on her and licked his dry lips.</p><p>“Thank you, okhti.”, he whispered.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>According to google Okhti means sister in arabic.<br/>Please correct me if I'm wrong.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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